Good Times
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Prompted by Fornell, Gibbs remembers one 'good time' in his marriage to Diane. Which consisted of a car door and a bloody index finger. Tag to the season eight episode 'Tell All,' but written because of season twelve's 'Check.'


_a/n: i wrote this because i meant to write it when the episode aired (three years ago, at this point) and i was inspired by the (horrors) of last night's (shitshow) episode. _

_alas: the time diane caught her finger in a car door._

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><p><strong><em>NCIS 8.19: "Tell All"<em>**

_"Before it got bad, there must have been some good times." - Tobias Fornell_

_"She caught her finger in a car door once." - Leroy Jethro Gibbs_

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><p>It was another night full of snide comments, breathy bitching, nasty glares, tongue-clicking, and hissing admonishments – on her part, that is; Gibbs spent most of the evening in jaw-clenched silence, occasionally snapping back, but mostly bearing it all like some kind of half-cocked martyr, fooling absolutely no one, and by the time the stiff-necked, black tie benefit ended, and whatever torture he'd just been put through at some retirement party for some godforsaken IRS employee was over and they were driving home – Diane driving, like a bat out of hell and incredibly dangerously, which was about the only thing Gibbs still liked about her, at this point - she had hardly taken a breath, she was so caught up in a constant stream of seething.<p>

He just sat there, scowling out the front window, counting the seconds until he could slam the basement door, pour a glass of bourbon, and ask himself why the hell he'd married her in the first place – he ignored her; she was just background noise, constantly nagging, constantly unhappy, and constantly asking him for more than he'd ever promised to give.

She went on, and on, and on –

"These are people I work with, Leroy, and for you to not even say a word – for you to just be so goddamn reticent – "

It was like she was never going to stop –

"Reticent, by the way, means silent-fucking-prick, if you need a translation – and did you even notice I'm wearing a new dress – of course not, you wouldn't even notice if I took of my ring, would you – "

He made the magnificently stupid mistake of sarcastically saying –

"I paid a lot for that ring, Diane, keep it on."

"EXCUSE ME?"

She burst into another tirade, set off by his callous comment, and he had the mad desire to smirk – he was almost glad she'd gone off into an angry rant again, because then he could silently ignore her some more, and consider the thousand ways he was going to block this entire conversation from his mind with some bourbon –

"I don't even recognize you these days – it's like after I found out, I found out your little secret past, you suddenly decided to give up – it's not my fault you're a liar – "

It was harder to block her out when she started on about Shannon and Kelly, but he tried his hardest – she parked the car hard, nearly ruined the brakes slamming her foot on it, and he jolted forward roughly, wincing – no doubt exactly what she'd been trying to achieve.

She killed the engine, and almost before she could reach to unbuckle her seatbelt, he was getting out of the car. Hands in his pockets, he started towards the house, not bothering to get her door - and that was the ultimate insult, because usually, no matter how pissy she was or how annoyed he was, he got the car door for her. He heard her heels slam onto the pavement – maybe she'd come after him; if he was lucky, she'd say enough to get him to lash out at her, right back out at her, and then they'd have a massive fight that would end in sweaty sheets and complete silence and two days of precarious niceties –

God, what was wrong with him?

He was seven strides away from the car when he heard her _shriek_ as if she'd been swung at with a machete.

He paused, wondering if he should just keep walking and let whatever was causing the shrieking finish her off – but that was a fleeting thought with no real seriousness; regardless of what he said or thought or felt, he'd never let real harm come to Diane.

He heaved a sigh, and turned around.

She'd sort of – collapsed against the car like an animal in a trap, and she wasn't moving. She tilted her head up, swore in a high-pitched voice, squealed in a – well, it would have been amusing, if she didn't sound so genuinely hurt – and then said –

"Leroy, help."

He arched a brow.

"What's wrong?" he asked, not moving.

"I slammed my – the door locked, the keys," she stammered, her voice a little faint.

He arched his brows – she'd slammed her finger in the car door.

He cleared his throat – and then to his horror, he almost laughed – he thought he was able to cover it with a cough, but –

"Are you _laughing_?" she cried, sounding shocked. "Leroy, I'm serious," he saw her try to muster a thunderous face, but she winced, and squealed again.

He sighed again and strolled over, dragging his feet – he half expected this to be a ploy to garner sympathy, some sort of trap to get him to feel secure so she could smack him when he got closer or something. Diane liked to slap him, and somewhere in their marriage, it had gone from slightly interesting, sexy smacking, to very annoying, flat-palmed, face smacking.

When he stopped next to her, however, he immediately felt bad for even entertaining the thought that she deserved it.

He didn't know how, but she had managed to catch her finger just right in the door, and it was locked, and her keys were lying there in the front seat. He stepped very close and bent down, looking at her finger. He reached out.

"Can I just pull it out?" he grunted cautiously.

"What a surprise, your solution is pulling out – that doesn't work in this situation any more than it does in the other," she hissed right back at him – even injured, she still had the ability to strike like a snake, and he glared at her, stepping back, hands up.

"Fine," he said moodily, starting to walk away.

She yelped a little, calling him back. He gave her a pointed look, and looked at her finger again.

"I'm afraid I'll rip the nail," she said tightly.

"You're worried about your damn manicure?"

"No, Leroy, I don't want to rip the whole nail off!" she shot back scathingly.

He cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together, and then stepped closer. He put his hand over hers, held her hand and finger still firmly, and then reached for the door handle, wondering if it was loose, because she was blocking it, even though she'd locked it.

He yanked gently, and nothing happened. He grunted, and then started fishing around in his pocket for a spare key – he knew he had a key to her car, and he kept it on him, usually –

There it was.

He found it, unlocked the door, and then resumed holding her hand, opening the door gingerly and removing her caught finger.

She let out a sharp, short breath and closed her eyes tightly.

"Ouch," she said hoarsely.

She laid her finger delicately in the palm of her opposite hand, and Gibbs looked down at it as he slammed the door.

"Jesus, Diane," he said, taken aback.

It was bloody; she'd cut herself – but the nail was all right, except for a hell of a mess of chipped polish.

He held up her hand – to look at it, and to elevate it, since it was bleeding.

"And you laughed," she hissed at him, her eyes boring into his as she looked up – her eyes were glossy with tears, probably involuntary, because this clearly hurt like a bitch – and probably angry tears, too.

He looked away from the finger, and met her eyes, genuine guilt flickering in his. He moved forward and pressed his lips to her finger, hardly bothered by the blood, and then he pulled her forward with a resigned calm and tucked the injured hand into his jacket, sliding his arm around her to lead her into the house.

"Don't play nice with me now, Leroy," she said, in a mildly fierce voice.

He grinned, pulling her into his side, forgetting her yelling at him quickly, because he'd been so stalwartly ignoring it, and then suddenly it was one of those rare moments where he felt like he could almost remember that things had once been, if not perfect, at least good, mellow, and it made his chest hurt where her finger lay against it.

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><p><em>poor diane, gibbs fucked her up and then he got her killed because he's too stupid to follow his own rules and "don't believe what he's told, double check" when he gets a phone call that's clearly a computerized recording.<em>

_not that i'm bitter._

_-alexandra_  
>story #239<p> 


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